I like my women machine sculpted. It is easier to look at a girl when you know exactly how she was put together—no surprises in the bedroom, y’know. Mostly I go for the ones that keep it under wraps. I like to peel back the layers of cloth and coyness over a series of dates, careful not to rush the job less I sour myself on the close. In the end, mind you, it is the form that matters. She has to look a certain way. I am not much for the Barbie or the big girl. There is a type in between that titillates. A model of beauty, sexuality, and easy death.
Stephanie told me she was from Portland. She had gray eyes and large full lips. We met over dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Chandler, Arizona. I found her on one of those dating apps and instantly became enchanted by her smile. It wasn’t innocent by any means. Instead she smiled like a woman who knew what she wanted. I knew it would make what I do so much sweeter, to watch that smile freeze on her lips and then fade as the true work began.
Some Thoughts:
- okay that was a short creepy start to something Stephen King inspired. I read the entry to his latest creation and thought about how much I would love to know how to capture the essence of fear. I’m not good or practiced at it, but I enjoy the effort—the work of learning. So, I’ll return to this freewrite again.
- I’m on a plane ripping through the clouds en route to Phoenix. I’m not homesick, but I miss the people I love.